


It Surprises You (But That's How It Was)

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Series: Hemlock on the Hearth [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aerial silks, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, First Dates, Gratuitous Brunch Plans, Hand Jobs, I Know Every Single Thing, M/M, Marijuana, Phichit is Chris's Peach, Phichit's Apple Green Vespa, San Francisco, The Phichimetti Serge Gainsbourg Agenda, Those Hurarache Lights, When I See the Beams Of, Will Be Alright, meet cute, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Phichit is very talented at his chosen occupation of relationship counselor and sex therapist. However, that doesn't mean it's always easy for him to find his own happiness with a partner.The tall, blond drink of water in his aerial silks class may be able to fix that.





	It Surprises You (But That's How It Was)

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
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> 

The shitty thing, _by far the shittiest thing_ , when one is a sex therapist for a living, is the fact that one’s own love life ends up neglected, non-existent, and/or a dumpster fire.

 

Sometimes all three at once.

 

The last date Phichit went on was with a guy who looked almost like Chris Pine. It went okay — they got burritos at El Farolito, which is not exactly the prettiest first date food, and they chatted about their families. When Captain Kirk but with Hazel Eyes mentioned he recently got out of living with a guy he’d been with less than a year, Phichit nodded. “Right, you move too fast,” he offered in between bites. “You’re afraid you’re wasting your life due to some arbitrary idea in your head of when you need to be established and married, which results in you sabotaging your long-term prospects. It’s a problem I see a lot.”

 

The second the words left his mouth, he winced. Dollar General Jack Ryan definitely made a quick excuse and bailed. Phichit went home alone, and he packed and smoked a bowl while blaring Hot Chip as his roommate’s toy poodle, Vicchan, occasionally stole some of the chips and guac. Phichit makes a point to avoid smoking up when Yuuri’s home since he’s not much of a fan of the smell, and he had a window open while baking, so to speak.

 

Stoned, single, and bored Phichit is a wild boy, and so when he wakes up the next morning to make breakfast, he sees receipts for a multi-class pass to Aerial Artique for silks and other circus work outs he does not readily remember buying.

 

_Oops._

 

He has plans with Seung Gil for drinks and dinner after, so he handles his clients as best as he’s able (the leave-or-stay seesawing with Georgi, Anya, and poly versus monogamy is so _old_ ), he puts on his green Bangkok t-shirt from his last visit to his _X_ ạ _yk_ ī as well as his favorite exercise leggings, hops on his Vespa, and heads off to the studio.

 

The class is for beginners, and he picks a mat between two others to stretch, limbering up with his leg almost over his head in a Bielmann. Someone stands at the next spot to his right, and out of the corner of his eye Phichit sees he’s…quite tall and muscular, like some kind of sculpted tree. Each class only permits eight attendees and the rest of the participants look like Jamberry Moms.

 

Phichit respects a hustle as much as the next person, but he wishes people would realize that’s a Pyramid Scheme.

 

The instructor is tan with long, dark hair. She has a winning smile and her workout gear is two shades lighter than the violet of her eyes. “Hi! I’m Sara, stepping in tonight for Mirai. We’re going to begin with some cardio and stretching, just to loosen up.”

 

They’re put through jumping jacks, some jogging, and yoga-style contortions. Phichit does yoga twice a week to help his mellow with his clients, and he just likes it too, if he’s being honest. If he likes this course, he may take the acro-yoga one as well.

 

When a stretch requires him to turn around, he ends up staring at the Sexy Redwood’s back, which is…fantastic. Well-defined lats and deltoids, tan but not to the point where he looks fake or like a walking carcinoma, the garnet-red of his tank top showing off attractive arms. He has an undercut with bright blond curls up top, and when Sara tells them to rotate sides Phichit doesn’t hear her at first as he's suddenly feeling a bit like strapping on a harness to do a high climb.

 

Phichit can feel the guy’s eyes on his back this time. He hopes he digs the view the way Phichit did a moment ago.

 

They’re done warming up and Sara demonstrates some basic shoulder and arm positioning leading into a French climb. Phichit decides to try his luck.

 

“I’ll spot you,” says a deep bass-rumble.

 

Phichit turns and…the Tree’s front is better than the back by miles. Incredible sparkling eyes between green and hazel with these thick, far too-long lashes, the barest hint of scruff, and he towers over him by half a foot. “Thanks,” Phichit says with a bright smile. “I’m sorry, your name is…?”

 

“Chris,” he’s told.

 

“Phichit,” Phichit replies with a firm, lingering handshake. “Thanks, I’ll return the favor.”

 

“I do believe I’d enjoy having you watch my back,” Chris replies.

 

Phichit looks at him with a smile before looking a second time. Then he starts his climb. It’s easier than it looked, but he’ll feel it in his arms tomorrow for sure. He pulls, ascends, and shows off a little for his new buddy. If the sound Chris makes is an indicator, it’s appreciated as well as noticed.

 

Sara doesn’t look super thrilled but it’s fine. She’s a sub. She’ll get over it.

 

Phichit descends and trades places with Chris. Having decided Phichit’s feat was a challenge, Chris one ups him by doing a full split in the air, and Phichit notes his extensive flexibility. He’s handsome, fit, pleasant enough…maybe he should see about the two of them getting a drink sometime.

 

The class ends with Sara giving them expressions that are both annoyed and amused. Chris grabs a high-end leather duffle. “Phichit, are you perhaps free soon?”

 

Phichit checks his phone — Seung Gil can’t hang out due to a work emergency. Phichit gives Chris a bright smile. “What about right now?”

 

Chris grins back.

——-

 

Surrounded by warm, crimson lighting and stacks of books, Phichit splits a platter of artisan cheeses along with small plates of bone marrow and octopus confit with Chris a mere hour later. He sips on a cocktail composed of gin and gran classico appropriately named Mystery Man as he listens to Chris discuss how he ended up having a one-on-one with Dita von Teese when he and his best friend attended an early performance of _Sleep No More_ in Manhattan.

 

Chambers, the bar they’re in, has an ambience that triggered the anecdote. “She sang,” Chris finishes. “The woman is a trained equestrian, ballerina, _and_ she can sing like an angel.She also colors her own hair. She can do _anything_.”

 

“My roommate’s a lot like that, though he’d never admit it,” Phichit remarks. “He’s mastered every dance style you can imagine, was valedictorian in his program at our university in Detroit, is some kind of Disney Prince the entire animal kingdom adores…he’s disgusting,” he says with blatant love and affection.

 

Chris wears a smile that matches Phichit’s own feelings about Yuuri. “My friend, the one I work with? He’s exactly the same. He has extensive knowledge of art, poetry, history, decor, design…you name it, and he can talk about it extensively, complete with obscure factoids a professor wouldn’t know. He was first in our class at Wharton…his name actually means _Winningest Winner_ when you translate it. It’s ridiculous.”

 

“As I said, disgusting,” Phichit agrees with a laugh. “So aside from occasional aerial acrobatics, what does Chris Giacometti excel in?”

 

Chris smiles as he swirls gin, Galliano, and champagne in his glass. “Finance. I’m translating Proust as a hobby because I dislike every English version I’ve read. I travel quite a bit, and I cultivate roses on my terrace. My cat, Pauvre Lola —“

 

“ _Pauvre Lola_ , as in the Serge Gainsbourg song?” Phichit interrupts.

 

Chris’s smile is full of obvious pleasure, as well intrigue. “Yes, his music is a personal favorite of mine.”

 

“Gotta know how to spread out without spreading,” Phichit recites part of the lyrics in English. “It’s delicate.”

 

“How will it turn out? That depends a little on you,” Chris adds.

 

When he meets Chris’s gaze an electric jolt hits his heart, making it skip a beat as the server clears the appetizers for their main dishes: short rib in red wine with broccolini for Phichit, the pork chop alongside squash tempura for Chris. They dig in, and Phichit decides after a few bites that if he doesn’t get anything more than a companion for circus workouts, he’s cool.

 

Though, Chris’s thighs look like they make _incredibly_ good earmuffs. He’d like more but friends are nice too, and he tries to not put too many expectations on any social interaction.

 

Granted, if more people thought like Phichit, he’d be out of work.

 

“I hope this isn’t forward,” Chris asks somewhere between finishing the meal and their after dinner drinks. “My flat is only a few blocks away. Provided you’re not needed at work too early in the morning, I’d love to continue this conversation over my Serge Gainsbourg vinyl collection.”

 

“Lead the way, then,” Phichit says with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

They settle the bill and Phichit drives them on his Vespa, Chris’s weight comfortable and enticing against his back His arms are secure and strong around his waist. His building is ritzy in an understated, European kind of way, and Chris requests the doorman ensure the safety of Phichit’s vehicle before they ascend to Chris’s floor.

 

His loft is actually the entire top floor, the elevator opening into a foyer with a magnificent black and red canvas hanging over a marble console table. A small, delicate mewling heralds the arrival of a blindingly white Persian cat with vibrant green eyes, and Chris picks her up with a gentle kiss between her ears.

 

“Pauvre Lola, I presume?” Phichit asks.

 

“Yes, she is the lady of the home,” Chris answers.

 

Lola purrs as Phichit scratches under her chin. “She’s lovely.”

 

After several minutes of doting, Lola frees herself from Chris’s embrace and runs across the wood floors to a lofty, tall perch just for her as the dainty bell on her collar tinkles like glass. Chris shows Phichit to a vintage brass bar cart, mixing gin and Campari with a dramatic, expert flair. His living room windows present a view of the city that glitters above the fog, and “ _Je t’aime…moi non plus_ ” fills the high-ceilinged acoustics.

 

Chris is charming and sexy, and Phichit really does want to know if his thighs are as delicious as they looked in leggings. He’s about to ask where Chris wants things to go (because as he often beats into his clients, proper communication is essential to healthy social interactions of all stripes) when Chris sets his drink on his coffee table. “May I?” he asks with one hand caressing Phichit’s cheek.

 

“ _Hell_ yes,” Phichit responds.

 

Chris laughs, and then they kiss as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Phichit goes for it the way he does everything, full-tilt and with fire, while Chris is surprisingly delicate until Phichit assumes control. A pleased rumble vibrates from Chris’s chest through Phichit’s, and he pushes Chris back into his white leather sofa.

 

Phichit’s philosophy when it comes to sex is basically as follows: if it feels good for all parties, then do it. Long as everyone’s having fun, life’s too short to overthink things. He always fucks on the first date if they’re both so inclined — it’s inevitable, why get panicky, why build it up expectations too high? If it doesn’t turn into a second date…well, then they got laid and had a good time, but some things aren’t meant to last.

 

He briefly thinks of Yuuri and this new guy he met recently. They ate lunch together the day before, and when Yuuri came home after work, there was visible sunshine filling his eyes that had been missing for far too long.

 

Though, it’s better that he not dwell on Yuuri while he’s in the midst of such a pleasurable overture to a possible change in his own romantic life.Phichit breaks the kiss, straddles Chris’s lap, and looks in his pretty, spring-grass eyes. He can feel the hard line of Chris’s interested cock against his thigh, and Phichit’s grin is rapacious as he bends down and resumes their make out session. 

 

The Moog synth beats go on, somewhere along the line Chris loses his shirt, and Phichit’s taken in Chris’s hand thanks to a liberal coating from a bottle of La Mer Renewal Oil. Phichit puffs out a loud, chirping laugh as Chris learns what he enjoys — the light scratch of his nails, the clockwise flick of his wrist, when Phichit needs him to grip tighter or stroke faster. When Phichit begins to edge too far to completion, Chris backs off to draw it out further, and Phichit’s laughter deepens into throaty, hushed expressions of his pleasure.

 

After countless minutes, Chris decides he’s ready to wind this part of the evening down. When Chris strokes so fast there’s nothing audible but slick, wet skin against skin and the wordless noises from Phichit. As his laughter intensifies like a geyser about to blow, Phichit comes. His exclamation upon his release is between a cackle and a curse, and he sees lights dance behind his eyes like a spotlight reflecting off gilded metal sequins worn in a classic stage musical.

 

Chris laughs into his throat as he wipes Phichit’s come onto his discarded shirt. “I like that you laugh when you finish.”

 

Phichit oscillates between giggling and catching his breath. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

 

 _The earmuff theory_ , Phichit thinks as he sinks to the floor. As a licensed sex therapist, he’s an expert on proper sexual safety. He pulls a Durex Select Orange out of his stash since they actually taste like what they’re supposed to, sweetly-sour like fresh citrus. Phichit grins as Chris unzips his far-too-expensive jeans, his red briefs visibly straining from what is definitely a healthy-sized (length and girth, bless) dick.

 

Phichit carefully rips the foil packet open before he fits the condom in between his lips, shaping his mouth into an O shape. Chris raises an eyebrow. When Phichit frees his cock with the practiced expertise of an old pro at this particular parlor trick, Chris immediately grasps the seriousness of what is unfolding as Phichit rolls the condom down his cock flawlessly using only his mouth. “ _Tu me rends fou_ ,” Chris informs him as he hums around the shaft to show off a little more before he focuses on his task, giving Chris head like he’s been paid for it, though with a body and a voice like his…why would he need to buy a partner?

 

There’s a time and a place for quickies, and Phichit knows this is neither though he’s enjoyed them on other occasions. Chris is charming and Phichit knows how to leave a partner wanting more. He begins the blow job slow, bobbing his head to the same rhythmas the bass line in “ _69 année érotique._ ” Chris expresses his appreciate by stroking the crown of Phichit’s head and subtle words of encouragement in a rough tone when he adds stroking his shaft with one hand or a swirl of his tongue around the head like it’s the highest-quality rock candy. 

 

Phichit decides to quit teasing, because he’s not immune to needing validation. He wants Chris to come apart like this, at least the first time, so he bears down and focuses more on his task. It causes Chris to get handsy, tugging on Phichit’s scalp so hard it stings, and Phichit moans with approval as he slides his lips to the tip. He fondles Chris’s balls through his briefs, drops back down until he’s deep-throating him, on and on with slight alterations in pattern until moans a warning with a sharp tug of the black strands in his grip. Phichit feels his cock twitch with his release inside the prophylactic as well as hears Chris utter a prolonged, pleased sigh.

 

Another satisfied Chulanont Speciality Customer. 

 

While Chris catches his breath, Phichit pulls back and wipes his mouth, smearing the orange-flavored lubricant onto his cheek. “My lips hurt,” he says matter-of-factly.

 

“Wear it like a badge of pride,” Chris manages when he can speak again. “You’ve earned it.”

 

Phichit grins and runs his hands over the denim on Chris’s thighs, scratching through the fabric with blunt nails. “You down for the count, cowboy?”

 

Chris laughs, disbelieving and excited all at once. “Not a chance.”

 

Phichit grins as Chris stands, and then they move to a bedroom, though not smoothly between kissing, groping each other, losing more clothing like a trail of breadcrumbs to the fairy tale kingdom of Chris’s spacious, south-facing master suite. The furniture is sleek with modern details, his sheets are 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton dyed scarlet, and they tumble onto the bed in an excited, lustful heap.

 

The rest of the night passes in a bit of a hedonistic blur. Chris prefers bottoming, and Phichit is quite happy to show him what he’s got up his sleeve in that department. Chris also keeps an impressively stocked toy box, and Phichit has a grand time letting him take control of one particular eight-speed number with rechargeable batteries until he’s wrung out. The phrase “rode hard and put away wet” is applicable to both of them by the time Chris orders a two in the morning we’ve-thoroughly-wrecked-each-other-pizza from the Seamless app. They eat on his bed like savages, feeding each other the toppings and strands of mozzarella like it’s manna from heaven. 

 

Phichit realizes he didn’t tell Yuuri he’d be out all night, but he doesn’t have any missed texts so it’s likely fine. _Met a new friend, won’t be back until after you leave,_ Phichit texts just in case Yuuri wakes up before he gets home.

 

Next to him, Chris rubs his shoulders. “You okay?”

 

“Just making sure my housemate knows I’m alive,” Phichit replies with a grin. “But we should make some kind of token attempt at sleep. Work tomorrow, at least for me.”

 

“Same,” Chris answers. He gets out of bed and enters his en suite. Phichit admires the view since Chris didn’t put on a single stitch of clothing in order to remove his contact lenses. Upon his return, they curl up around each other. Pauvre Lola joins them at the foot of the bed as a softly purring white ball, and off to sleep they go.

 

The next morning kind of sucks from the perspective of too much booze and too many orgasms too late into the night, but Chris treats Phichit to a killer breakfast of _pain perdu_ with ginger marmalade in a tight cashmere pullover and silk wool trousers. Phichit’s in last night’s post-acrobatics clothing, but eh. There are worse ways to be.

 

“So,” Chris asks while adjusting his glasses. He has a sexy professor thing happening with the sweater. Phichit regrets having an early appointment with an East Coast client. “I had an excellent, excellent time. It was excellent enough I’d like to get your number and see about a repeat production, provided you’re amenable to such things.”

 

Phichit grins. “I’m amenable.”

 

“Fabulous,” Chris says with obvious cheer. “Foreign Cinema for Sunday brunch, then the rest of the day is ours?”

 

“Only if we start with oysters and their High Fidelitys,” Phichit suggests as he takes his final bite of breakfast.

 

“Ahhhhh,” Chris sighs. “You truly speak to me on a spiritual level, _ma pêche_.”

 

Phichit raises an eyebrow. “I’m your ‘peach’, hm? Okay. Then yeah, you’ve booked me for about twenty-four solid hours. I don’t have any sessions on Monday until noon.”

 

Chris takes Phichit’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. “We’ll find a way to waste the time, I’m sure. Though…I don’t think a minute I spend with you could be considered _a waste_.”

 

Phichit laughs; Chris is too delightful. “That was good,” he admits when he calms down. “That was really good. You’re a natural.”

 

“Not at all, it’s a skill I’ve finely honed over time,” Chris counters as he clears the dishes. Phichit grabs his gear and helmet, and even though he expects Chris to say goodbye at the elevator, Chris rides down to the lobby with him, escorting him to the scooter with a hand on the small of his back. “ _Alors, à bientôt, ma pêche_.”

 

Phichit gives him a thorough kiss goodbye, leaving Chris a bit dazed and horny judging from the look in his eyes. “Something to keep you anticipating brunch,” he teases as he touches his chin. Then he rides through the city back to the Painted Lady he shares with Yuuri and Vicchan.

 

Yuuri’s up, moving about the kitchen in a navy suit minus the jacket and an indigo, crimson, and purple tie. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt while he tends to an omelette in a skillet. “Oh hey,” he says. “Thought you said I’d be gone before you returned.”

 

“I thought so too,” Phichit replies. He just ate and he had a ton of food the night before, but marathoning sex and hard exercise are a combination that make him a lot hungrier than typical. “Can you make me one? With that _queso fresco_ from the store?”

 

“Yup,” Yuuri replies.

 

Phichit pours orange juice in two glasses before setting out the chili oil for their eggs, while Vicchan pleads for scraps and small morsels. When Yuuri brings their plates to the table, that’s when he notices it. “You look…happy. And really relaxed.”

 

Yuuri pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth. Then he shrugs. “I had a nice phone call with Victor last night,” he admits eventually because they’ve danced this dance too many times. Phichit will extract the information like a CIA Agent who’s an expert in waterboarding. “He asked me out to dinner for Saturday.”

 

Phichit smiles. “Nice. Good.” He pats Yuuri’s hand. “Don’t fuck it up.” Yuuri glares at him as he cackles. “I met someone too yesterday. That’s where I was all night. We’re having brunch on Sunday, FYI.”

 

Yuuri smiles as he pushes his eggs around his plate. “You know I don’t stay overnight with my dates, so I’ll be home when you head out. Don’t worry about Vicchan or your Ham Band.”

 

“Sweet,” Phichit says. His grin is wide and sparkling, Yuuri’s subtle but no less luminous, and then they catch up on work and their families until Phichit needs to shower and hop on Skype. He hears Yuuri lock the front door as his car starts, and as he gets ready for his day he thinks of the new number in his cellphone, the brunch on Sunday, and how easy it is for things to change for the better.

**Author's Note:**

> IDK y'all seemed to want this story and when I was asked to pinch hit a second NSFW piece for the pilot issue of "Shall We Read?" I went for it.
> 
> Yes, the quote that names this series is from The Addams Family. 
> 
> The title for this piece is the English translation from Mr. Gainsbourg's "Ballade de Melody Nelson." The locations are all real except Chris's building. Also if you ever doubted my love of like dramatic irony or whatever, their dinner convo should kill that notion instantly.
> 
> I cribbed "Phichit is a wild boy" from a thing seventhstar said once. <3 Beta'ed by lilywinterwood, who saved me a million times.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please let me know below in the comments, [in my ask box on tumblr](http://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com/ask), or [via Twitter.](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


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